Mastectomy
by ArouraLeona
Summary: What if the mystery of Levy's shrinking bust is easily answered, but somewhat tragic? This is sort of a shout out to all the women (some I know, some I don't) who struggle with scars (such as those that come with mastectomies and other surgeries) and their sexual identity. To women who sometimes forget they are beautiful. One-shot. Levy (Ga/le) Enjoy. 9/13/15 EPILOGUE ADDED!
1. Chapter 1

Mastectomy

Not many people know. Those who do, keep quiet about it. Oh, I don't know, maybe it comes up in conversation. Maybe _some_ of the girls mentioned it to _some_ of the boys, and they talk about it still. But not everyone knows. And no one brings it up when I'm in the room.

At first, I hated myself. The doctors said that feeling was normal. Especially for one so young. I grew to accept it; it happened. In a way, I earned it. Then Wendy came and I thought about how she could have fixed it if she...

Not her fault. Not my fault. But the self-loathing began again. Didn't help that I was starting, for the first time in my life, to really like a man. To physically yearn after him. His piercing eyes. His dark hair. His large hands. Slowly but surely, I was starting to want him, but the thought of him seeing me … I was embarrassed. Ashamed. Compared to all of the women we both knew, compared to their powerful femininity, I was nothing. But I wanted him, and eventually, he started looking at me like he might want me, too.

I started to change. I needed to take myself back. To accept myself again.

Each morning before I dress, I take a good hard look in the mirror. The scars aren't as bad as they were. The surgery was well done. As only partial removal was necessary on each breast, I've been told that there is even a possibility of regrowth. I've been offered magical spells to "fix the problem."

I'm always torn. Yes. Before the injury, my breasts were larger, and unmarked. I do miss that. I miss the confidence in that. After the injury, they are almost non-existent. I have little pads that I can insert into my bras to disguise the change. Originally I used them all of the time. Even when I slept, so that I might forget.

I've noticed … I do that less and less, as time passes.

One of the reasons I was chosen for the S-Class exams in x784 was because of a mission I took not long after the Fantasia fiasco. The mission that marked me. Jet and Droy fell at a critical moment during a fight against a venomous creature, who was attacking a small jungle community. With only an instant to think, I brought up a rune shield – learned after working Freid's spells during Fantasia – to protect those behind me.

I threw _FIRE_ and _WHIRLWIND_ at my attacker, but before it perished, it managed to spit a small measure of its venom at me. Hitting me in the chest.

The people I saved came to my aid quickly. Once Jet revived, he got me to a hospital in a nearby town as quickly as he could. But, by then, much of the damage was already done. The surface tissue burned beyond repair and the venom slowly soaking deeper into the remaining tissue. I was, by then, unconscious, so a choice – the right choice; I blame no one – was made to remove every bit of poisoned flesh, plus a tiny bit more. Just to be safe.

Initially, I was just grateful to be alive. Grateful I saved so many with so little injury to innocents. And I still am! Don't get me wrong, I'm still grateful for that. I'm still very proud of what I managed to do, despite the injury. And most days, I look at myself in that mirror and think of it as more of a victory than a deformation.

But...

When he touches me – hand on my shoulder, fingers in my hair – I wonder what he'll think. _If_ I show him. I don't know if I'll show him. I don't know if he wants that much, but I think he might, and when he sees – _if_ he sees – what will his reaction be?

With shorts on and my top completely off, I look almost like a boy. I have so little left that I might be a boy. A boy with injuries, but cover my face, hide my hips, I still resemble a boy.

Without nipples. Only the slightest bit of softness. And the scars that cover the lower half.

If he sees, will he do all of the things I sometimes dream of him doing? I don't think size is an issue. He saw me before the injury, and he knows me now, after. He knows my general shape, and that hasn't driven him away.

I would tell him, of course, before he saw. Prepare him.

But if I were to stand before him. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere alone. If I were to remove my shoes. My head scarf. My dress. That wouldn't be new. He has seen me in bathing suits and similar somewhat revealing outfits.

But if, then, I reached behind my back, unhooking my bra. If I lifted my hands, each to a strap – left hand, right shoulder; right hand, left shoulder. If I pulled the straps down the length of my arms...

I would hesitate then. I know I would. I would, arms still crossed, linger at that last second, when I was still covered, and my vanity – my heart – still protected.

What would he do then? Would he watch, waiting, letting me make that final move? Would he step forward and with his own hands pull mine away? Looking at me, looking fully at me as I have wanted so much for him to do. As I have feared so much that he will do.

He would look. He would see. What then? Would he change his mind about being with me and leave? Would he stay, but look away? Dim the lights? Avoid touching?

Or would he brush my rippled, slightly discolored scars with his calloused fingertips? Curiosity driving him. Wonder. Respect. _Pride_. An unflagging desire, not dampened by my deformity. Would he bend or kneel or lift me up so that he could touch me with his lips and taste me on his tongue?

Would he lay me under him – him over me – seeing me with those red eyes? Scars and all. Caressing me with those strong hands? Scars and all.

Would I be a woman to him, scars and all?

I dream of his rejection. I dream of his acceptance. I dream of him. And me. It won't be long, I think, before I have to tell him. I can't be the only one who feels the potential for passion burning between us.

I worry, but I am no longer ashamed. I no longer hate myself. I want him. I love him. And I am worthy of want and love in return.

The time will come, and I will share my secret. He will look, or he won't. He will touch, or he won't. He will accept, or he won't.

I dream he will. He will. He will.

* * *

**Author's note**: I'm sure there are others who have felt it necessary to explain Levy's growing – shrinking – change in the chest area. Every arc seems to deduct a cup size from her, while adding cup sizes to the other females in the guild. She has more in the manga (I think) than the anime, but it's still not where she was back in the first chapter.

So. This is a random little, completely unfounded, explanation for the difference. Plus some romance!

As another note: I know a person or two who is uncomfortable with their own beauty for the sake of their scars. I love you, my person or two. You are beautiful, my person or two. And you, dear reader, you too are beautiful.


	2. Epilogue

**Author's Note:** I never wanted this. I thought this was a one shot, whole on its own. And it was. But seriously. That last chapter. 451. "It ain't no sin to fall in love with someone"? Can you blame me? Gajeel has _so _much game.

Mastectomy

Epilogue

She was all brass and steel when she told me. Story slipping from her lips to my ears without even a _hello_ to make it easy. She caught me outside the guild. Ambushed. Me.

Embarrassing.

My first instinct was to laugh at her audacity – big word, learned it from her when we worked together; learned lots working together; not this – but she spoke, and I didn't laugh.

_Damaged_, she called herself. _Flawed_. There were things, she told me – here, outside, in the bright light of fucking day! - that most people needed for pleasure that she just couldn't provide.

Suddenly we were having a conversation – one-way conversation – I never expected to have. At least not so fucking soon! And not in the goddamn street!

But where could we have it? At the guild, where so many listening ears would press in on us? Three other slayers with hearing as good as mine. One still a kid. No.

My place.

Her place.

Fuck, no. So I let her talk in the street because, at that moment, the street was empty.

And because, at the end of the talking, I was fairly certain I was going to be offered a chance at a gift. And who didn't like gifts?

Some people, she was still saying, needed softness, and she wasn't soft or sensitive.

My brow furrowed at that. She was very much both of those things. The very essence of those things. Sure, she was brass and steel _now_, hard with fight and stubbornness, and I liked it. Liked it a lot. But that wasn't all of her. Not even most of her. She _was_-

She growled. Pulled at her hair.

The _fuck?_

"I was injured," she said, her eyes forcing contact and making me, _me_ tremble, "and unable to heal. I have very little breast tissue, _obviously_, and also some nerve damage dulling my sensitivity in that area."

Her face was red. But her spine was still straight. She was nervous. I got that, now. Got the why of it. Her heartbeat was fast, but she stayed tough. She was what she was.

I blinked. Twice. Grabbed her elbow. The street, though still empty, was no longer the place for this. The alley. That was okay. It wasn't as dark as it could be, but shadow would help. I pulled her in, pushing her against the wall.

The words she used. Important to her, because words were. Less important to me, or at least they used to be, but I thought I was better. With words. I could be. I would be.

Damaged. Flawed. As if she wasn't good enough. Ha. That didn't make sense. Not to me. Injured? Scars. _Fuck. _I owned a mirror. I knew what scars were, and I didn't think they were so bad. They were... symbols of survival. Lessons, sometimes.

There were a few I got on Tenrou. Lessons that taught me just how much I needed her. Wanted her.

Needed her, then. Now. But this wasn't about my need. She thought it was. What she was saying? Like a fucking warning:

_Danger this way_.

Giving me an out before I got into too deep. Too goddamn late for that. I was in too deep years ago.

No, this had shit to do with my need. This was about hers.

I'd never even kissed her. Too timid, which was bullshit, but true. She was so goddamn perfect sometimes that I was just afraid if I went that far, she'd disappear.

_Flawed_.

Fucking hell.

In that alley. One minute. Two. I bent down and put my mouth to her ear.

"I'm a monster, Levy, but you share air with me. There ain't no injury that could damage you to me."

I'd never even kissed her. Didn't know what she wanted. Didn't know what she liked. All I had was instinct. Guesses.

If you lose one sense, sometimes others make up for the loss. Loss of sensitivity in her breasts might mean more in her belly, collarbone, and throat.

I'd never even kissed her.

I still wouldn't. Not yet. There was a need here, and it would damn well come first.

With one hand on her hip, keeping her pressed against the wall, I allowed the other to travel the _softness_ of her shoulder Brush over the flimsy ribbon that helped cover what she wanted, what I know she wanted to show me.

I looked at her. At the woman I never kissed. At the woman I never confessed my love to. At the woman who never kissed me. At the woman who never confessed her loved to me.

And I unknotted her dress.

And she let me.

There, in an alley, in the middle of our city, against a wall, protected only by the shadow of my body, she allowed her dress to fall. There was a moment, when the cloth hit the concrete, that she panicked. Lips paled. Heart raced.

Then color brightened her complexion. And her heart slowed.

Mine didn't.

She was calm.

I wasn't.

_Her need_, I had to keep reminding myself. Shit, that was difficult.

My face; my expression. Sparked something in her. Burned. I saw it. Heard it. Made molten some of that brass and steel. Her breathing sped up; her hands trembled.

"Only thing I need for pleasure," I told her, "is you."

Her heart stopped. Raced. I stepped closer.

"I want you. Here. Now. This wall? Brick. Rough. It'll tear at your back. _Then_ you'll have scars that matter to me, Levy, because they'll be _mine. _I wanted you yesterday, at the guild. You laughed. With Lucy. Threw your head back," I put a thumb under her chin to tilt her head and expose her throat. "Other side of the room. Didn't fucking matter. I wanted you last year when we were hunting bandits for the Council. I helped you get into a tree for a better view. Better view," I snorted as I looked her over, letting my fingers move from throat to thigh, not touching her chest.

Not yet.

"Almost couldn't let you go when I helped you down. Wanted you seven years ago on the island." I took her hand this time, holding her palm to my cheek. "I pulled you up a cliff ledge. First time I … fucking stupid, but it felt like the first time you put your life, your trust in me. Goddamn, Levy, you can't know what that meant to me. Means to me."

She closed her eyes. They needed to be open.

"Look at me, Levy." She did. The trembling was back. Mine. Hers. _Shit_. It was an _alley_. "I wanted you when you tied your hair up, looked straight at me, and said you'd bring down the barrier during Fantasia. When only weeks before... I always wanted you. _Always_. And you know it. You're not stupid. What _I_ want isn't the problem. What," I asked her, letting go, now; stepping back, now, "do you want?"

"You."

I grinned. "No shit. Got that much. I'm looking for... mmm... specifics. Tell me, Levy. What gives _you_ pleasure?"

She cocked her head to the side in a way that already told me she was going to be a smartass.

"Books."

I ignored her, leaned down, and licked from the middle of her sternum to her left ear. Nearly broke her jaw covering her mouth trying to quiet her surprised response.

Surprised. But _pleased_.

She shook.

"That's good." I drummed my fingers along her ribs. "How severe is that nerve damage exactly? You tested it?"

She nodded. Her eyes were wide. Her skin was hot. She was sweating.

"With someone else?" I focused on the upper area of her sternum, where the scarring was less and the nerves were probably better, and over to the outer side of her left ribcage. I knew she was ticklish, so I was careful.

Hands, lips, tongue; I touched her, tasted her. I watched her while she shook.

"With someone else, Levy?"

"No," she gasped.

"Only yourself?"

"Yes."

_Good._

"Maybe I can do better," I said to her skin as I continued.

She smelled amazing. I wanted to devour her. I wanted to be on my knees. To worship her. And she thought she had to fucking warn me!

HA!

_So good._

_Her needs. _

_Her. Needs._

I'd never even kissed her.

_So start with that, moron_.

I pushed back to look at her, again. And why not. Who wouldn't want to look at her? She needed that, I know, but for me, it was just true. I would, if given a choice, die looking at her. Watching her. I thought I would.

I looked at her.

She was bright red and bold blue. All shiny with sweat that rolled down her shoulders and dripped down the rippling pattern of her chest.

She was as beautiful, in that moment, as she always was.

I kissed her.

I'd almost done it before. A hundred times. More than that. Every time she talked to me. Even when she didn't. Just walked by. Grab her. Pull her in. Kiss her. When we walked together. Sat together.

When I slept.

I never thought she'd be naked the first time. Naked in an alley. Naked; bare. Open. Free.

_Flawed_. Flawed in such a way that made her real. I thought of kissing her before, but the fear of her vanishing kept me from actually doing it. But I saw her, now.

More than saw. Touched. Tasted. I kissed her, and I knew her.

It wasn't a long kiss. Couldn't be. Otherwise she'd have those brick-scrapes on her back, and I'd feel guilty, no matter what I'd said before.

It wasn't a long kiss, but it was _real_.

It wasn't a long kiss, but she was soft, and she was sensitive.

I wanted to kiss her again. Almost did, but I pushed her back.

"You hate yourself?"

She smiled for the first time since the ambush. "No."

"Good. Because I love you, and it would be fucking annoying to get in a fight on day one."

* * *

00000

**Author's Note 2:** As I said in the original … for real, my darlings. Love yourselves. I know so many people complaining about being too pale or too dark, too freckled, too long nose, too wide nose, too short, too tall, too curly hair, too straight hair. _Love_ yourself. People are beautiful.

But, more than that, don't leave it at looks. Take some care with an inner self, as well. Don't hate yourself. Be strong. Don't let someone come along and treat you like shit. Tear you down. I have a friend of a friend, I learned last week... her husband makes her take diet pills because if she gets too fat it will be disrespectful to him! Can you BELIEVE that?! I've seen this woman, first of all, and she is in no way _fat_, and even if she _were_ FUCK THAT. Talking to your WIFE or ANYONE like that is what _I_ call "disrespectful"! (And to add to it, this woman has two kids... _lots_ of women would like the body she has after two kids, though, _again_, they shouldn't have to.) And forcing diet pills on someone is BULLSHIT. They are often terrible for you. Cause yo-yo weight gain problems, liver and kidney problems... not that this guy gives the _slightest_ shit.

I don't know this woman. I only know she's a friend of my friend. I know me. I know my friend. I know neither of us would put up with that bullshit. Because we're both very comfortable in ourselves. I know that the friend of a friend is at least as conventionally attractive as my friend, if not more so, but I also know that she was bullied and called fat and dark.

I don't know her story. But I know of other stories that might fit the theme. Other people bullied and who slide into abusive relationships with the first person to hold out a hand, because they feel like they have no value.

_YOU HAVE VALUE._

Love is not a sin, to paraphrase Gajeel. And to put my own spin on it, Loving _yourself_ is not a sin. And turning away those who will not love you is not a sin.

You're beautiful, my loves. Have a great week/month/year/life. Long-live Ga/Le.


End file.
